Lonely
by Black and Red Candles
Summary: He knows it's futile, thinking something of himself. No one has ever told him he was worth anything, why should a new pair of legs change that? But it doesn't matter what your body is, it's what's inside. GamTav
1. Chapter 1

He really should thank Equius and Kanaya – no, really, because he can walk again, he can run again, he can fall down stairs again but this time not because his legs are limper than noodles, but because he's simply _clumsy_ and he really, really feels good about the fact he can now _afford_ to be clumsy. That fact makes Tavros smile even wider, while he stares up at the ceiling, clearly spacing out. Maybe Equius could make him some fairy wings, too? How great would it be to _fly?_

But no, his legs are great enough, perhaps a little too great…because if Tavros thinks about them too much, his eyes start to burn at the corners, and a chocolate flush begins to appear on his cheeks because _no one_ has even been this kind to him _ever_, and it's something just so new to him that it touches the Taurus right down to his very childish, naïve, loving core. No one ever gives him the time of day, unless it's to say mean things, and when Tavros runs a hand down the firm, warm metal of his new legs, he almost feels like he's worth something…

Tavros's now wandering down in the lab now, aimlessly, staring up at all of the weird beasts in the huge glass tubes. The place is cold and dank, but that's okay – he doesn't mind at all. The tubes glow, sketching out spoor slime colored highlights that hungrily devour the deep, dark shadows. In the green, glowing, effervescent goo, he can see his reflection when he walks by a tube – a flushed face, eyes glistening, his lips irreversibly turned upwards. Even better, when yellow eyes look harder into the glow, he realizes it's almost impossible to tell that the blood rushing to his cheeks is an ugly, ruddy brown…for the second time that day, Tavros feels like he's worth something.

He's almost taken with his reflection now, though. He looks so much taller, so much braver, even his posture is even better. He puffs out his chest with pride, then blushes harder and laughs at himself – because, come on, Tavros being heroic and strong? He knows it's a joke, but maybe sometimes, he can be allowed to believe, right? The lighting takes away the horrible caste system that troll society imposed upon him from birth, and his legs take away his inhibitions, just a little bit.

He knows it's futile, thinking something of himself. No one has ever told him he was worth anything, why should a new pair of legs change that? He doesn't even have the capacity to have a blackrom relationship – the feelings of hate simply won't _come _for someone as loving as the boy. Tavros is just as timid, just as shy, just as confused and lonely and oh so sad as the day he was born: a new way to move around, a little bit less of a handicap, won't change that fact, won't change the fact that he really _isn't_ worth anything, and that he's just simply trying to delude himself into a fairy tale that will never come to fruition.

It doesn't help that the only person he feels anything flushed for could never even look at him _that way_ in return.

The troll turns away from the glass, and this time, slides down against it, feeling the warm, almost tingly, feeling of resting up against the giant coffin. He draws his metal knees up to his chest, hearing more than feeling the chinks and clinks and sliding of metal on metal as he does such a simple movement. What if these legs were his biological ones instead? Would he still be just as undesirable as he is today?

When Tavros buries his head into his knees, ignoring the fact he just cut his own forehead open because of a rough piece of metal, a hand grasps on his left horn, making his head snap up.

"G-Gamzee," He stutters out, blushing darker as Gamzee continues to stroke, oh so gently, along one of his long, long, candy-corn colored horns. He shudders, breaking eye contact with the clown, looking back down at his legs, feeling the ruddy blood slowly drip down his face from his forehead.

"Why so down, bro?" Comes the slow, slurred greeting, and Tavros instinctively blinks up at Gamzee, who is swaying a little on his feet. "Life's a motherfucking miracle, don't fuckin' waste it away."

"I, uh, just feel…" He forces himself to keep looking up at the clown, even though heat is pooling oh-so-deliciously in his stomach at his ministrations, even though his blush is just slowly growing darker, even though his flushed red feelings are coming back in full force and, oh _god_ because Gamzee is kneeling down and _nibbling _on the sensitive base of his horn. "I feel, uh…" But his train of thought is lost when the clown lowers himself down to Tavros' eye level and just sits there.

"Feel what, brother?" And when those always cloudy, always distanced eyes finally focus on him, just him, nothing else, Tavros feels himself harden fully. No one has ever looked at him so intensely…_I feel like I'm worth something when you look at me like that, stop stop stop and oh, I lie, don't, don't take your eyes off me_ and that's all he can think as he fists Gamzee's black shirt and the Capricorn _licks the cut on his forehead._

Tavros softly cries out, and he's beginning to feel that burning sensation in the corner of his eyes, because the actions and words and _the tone_ of Gamzee's voice are soft and gentle and something that Tavros didn't know he so desperately needed until he got it.

"I, uh, feel…" And he hesitates, breaking eye contact to look down at his legs, "L-lonely," He murmurs finally, and the Capricorn just stares for a few moments – _I wonder if he even registered what I said –_ before a very surprised Tavros feels a hand on his back, pushing him away from the tank, and before he can even ask, Gamzee plops down on the ground, so that the other would have to lean back against him.

"I'm here," Is all the clown says, right against Tavros' ear and he _squirms_, so needy and desperate and wanting, wanting all of Gamzee but knowing he can't have him…

"Gamzee," Is all that Tavros can manage to spew out because his brain has shut down and he's crying, and there's brown tears _everywhere_ but he can't stop, even when he furiously wipes and scrubs at them. Long, bony arms finds their way around his waist, holding the shaking body and they sit there, the humming of the tanks and the green lighting in the background and soft, steady breathing and rushed, trembling, gasps abounds.

Soon enough, though, his crying subsides and he's still aching from need and want and longing, but there's no tears anymore and Tavros slumps back against Gamzee like he's a puppet and his strings were just cruelly cut.

"Feel better, Tav?" Gamzee hums into his black Mohawk, and the troll nods, feeling beyond embarrassed. "Good–" But he can't say anything else because Tavros is twisting to face him and blushing, looking so needy, so lost, so lonely, and who is Gamzee to keep a brother waddling through his own despair? The Capricorn blinks once, then twice, and decides that _hey_, swooping in for a soft kiss might be fun…

But that's not what Tavros needs, and yes he's caught by surprise but when those grey painted lips touch his and those claws find their way into his Mohawk and teasingly _tug,_ buthe just loses it, all of it. The kiss is anything but chaste, but that's okay because that's what Tavros _needs_ so badly. He's never really done this before, though, never even thought about it until he met Gamzee in person, so it's awkward and messy and sloppy and Gamzee being, well, _Gamzee_ isn't helping but that's perfectly okay, everything is perfectly okay. If this is what helps the burning hole in his chest go away, then he's more than happy to keep doing this.

A clawed hand finds its way up to Tavros' horns again, and wraps around it, stroking it slowly, steadily, firmly, sending shudders through the cripple's spine because he knows what Gamzee is promising with that and he is well beyond the _yes please_ _I want you_ part and more into the _yes please I _need_ you like burning_ part.

"Tavros," The Capricorn finally manages to muse when he comes up for air and leaves them both panting raggedly, "You are a motherfucking miracle, don't let any motherfucker tell you otherwise."

There's that burning in his yellow eyes again and his hands are tangled up deliciously in that wavy, haphazard _mess_ that Gamzee decides to call hair and it's soft, so surprisingly soft. "T-thank you," But he can't bring himself to voice the complaints that stir deep in his heart, the complaints that he's _not_ that great, that he never will be because he's never done anything, that Gamzee is only saying this because – because he's high, higher than a kite in the sky, and that he's confusing Tavros with someone else - but saying so would only serve to insult and belittle Gamzee's affectionate words. "No one has ever, uh, said that to me," And he buries his face into the pulse in front of him, somehow enjoying the sickeningly sweet scent of sopor slime that probably never, ever leaves the clown troll's body.

"Really?" And a frown that had smattered itself on Gamzee's face only entrenches itself further when Tavros only nods, nuzzling his nose into Gamzee's neck, "We should fucking do something about that, then."

"W-what?" He says, but he's being pushed down to the floor, the green glow catching slightly in Gamzee's otherwise dark, goldenrod eyes. He begins to blush deeply, his whole body beginning to tint with brown in his embarrassment and desperation. The clown is warm, blazingly warm, and just the light touch of the fingertips right on his Zodiac sign makes the warmth spread everywhere in his body – and it beings to feel like he, himself, is drugged and high on slime, not Gamzee.

"Tell me what you want," And said troll's voice lowers, becomes more velveteen, becomes more like a husky purr than a dazed, cacophonic, butchered-metered uttering that it normally is. When Tavros shakes his head no, that he _can't_, the Capricorn growls lowly in his throat. "Tell me what you want, babe," A lazy, almost _seductive _grin breaks across the make-up painted face, "Or I can't fucking do anything." Those shockingly-bright glazed over eyes already tell Tavros what he needs to know – that he so desperately needs to take charge or this chance will pass him by and he will be stuck down in the lab, admiring large creatures in tanks for the rest of his doomed, short life, and _he will continue to feel lonely until his very last breath._

_Ohgodohgodoh_god_, _"I want, uh," And his whole face ignites in chocolate splotches like fresh, sienna-ink flowers blooming on a grey-tinted canvas, "I want you to touch me, Gamzee," His voice fades out to nothing from nerves, and his hands are shaking but he struggles to hide it in front of Gamzee by burying his hands into the birdnest of hair once more. If nothing else, Tavros wants so badly to have an appearance of being strong for once, because this is the one person that matters, the one person that Tavros would ever even entertain the thought of flushed feelings for.

Gamzee doesn't laugh though, like Tavros fully expects him to – instead, he presses a soft kiss to Tavros' temple, then to his forehead, then he pulls back and looks, just drinks in the view. Then, "Touch you where?" And that wicked grin is back and Tavros squirms at the question – Gamzee just grins and leans on his elbows, his upper body basically lying on Taurus' hips.

"Do I really have to, uh, say it?" And Gamzee chuckles this time, affirming that question, and the other troll tries, but just can't bring himself to say it, and his heart feels like it's on a stampede through his chest, before he finally manages to whisper against one of those long, curvaceous horns, "_Everywhere,"_ And, feeling just a little bit emboldened, grabs Gamzee's burning hand and slides it _I want it on my bulge, unfff_ under his shirt, hissing with pleasure when those sharp nails nick his chest. "Everywhere you want to, just _touch me_, _please_…" _T__ouch me like I mean something to you_

The pads of the clown's fingers are not anything like what Tavros would expect – he expected corroded pads, from perhaps a little bit too much slime pie, or maybe coarse roughness, from all the juggling and honking and overall Gamzee-ness, but instead they're just a little bit rough, just a little bit smooth, just a little bit on this side of perfect. They flit over everything, over his ribs, over his collarbone, and Gamzee keeps this certain look on his face the whole time, like Tavros is king of the _universe_ and Gamzee's so far beneath him – almost like he's a brown blood, and that thought _excites _Tavros - but thoroughly enjoying this illicit love affair.

Tavros, still riding on the giddy adrenaline rush from being brave, leans down to kiss the other troll. This one's just as sloppy as the first, but at least this time Tavros is getting a handle on how exactly to tilt his head, how exactly to make Gamzee make those tiny little snarls in the back of his throat.

To the ex-cripple this is everything that he could've dreamed of, perhaps even farther than he ever thought he would come – intimacy, just even simple kissing, was not something Tavros was expecting to happen, and if it ever did, he thought it would be non-consensual with Vriska – and to have it be Gamzee, to have it be _Gamzee_, that makes it even better if that's even possible, because the feelings that Tavros kept swimming around in his head like a spaztic Faygo-drunk Eridan in a tiny fishtank are blossoming into something so red that if the clown wasn't above him in the caste system, wasn't so high, high above him like a helium balloon touching the clouds, he'd actually entertain the possibility of becoming matesprits.

"That's, um, enough," Tavros murmurs against Gamzee's lips, and the hand that was running along his sides teasingly slips out from under his shirt, to plop itself limply down on the floor, "Thank you," He says with a bit of uncertainty, not quite sure what to say or do as Gamzee basically just gives up on leaning on his elbows and quite literally face plants right into his firm, muscular stomach, nearly clipping his chin with those long, upwards-curving horns. "T-that can't be comfortable," But the clown murmurs a noncommittal noise, and shifts down lower, so that his face is practically buried right against Tavros' achingly hard bone bulge and that is _not_ somewhere the bull wanted him to go. "G-Gamz, g-get off me," He rushes out, a brown flush caking onto his cheeks again, one that he feels will never, ever go away in the presence of the clown, and well, he's okay with that…

It doesn't help _at all_ when Gamzee grins widely, and, opening his mouth wide, _mouths_ the tip of his bulge through his thin, so deliciously _thin_ boxers – oh god _yes_, thanks so much random closet selection in the morning when Tavros isn't quite awake and thanks so much robot legs for shedding every single pair of pants Tavros owns because Gamzee's tongue is now flicking out, teasing the tip even more.

"But," _Lick_, "You asked me to touch you, Tav, so I'm touching you with my fucking tongue," _Lick,_ "Fuck, doesn't it feel nice, babe, having someone do this to you?" And Tavros is clawing at Gamzee's shoulders, having never been touched this way before, never even thought of it, never even knew it could feel this good, and he feels shame and embarrassment and heat roiling in the pit of his stomach. The one time Tavros had actually _tried_ to touch himself before, he didn't have a bucket, and, cheeks burning with horrible, glorious shame for even thinking of something in such a lewd manner, gave up the ghost – but Gamzee isn't going to stop, not anytime soon – at least Tavros hopes – so having a bucket doesn't matter… "Loosen up, Tavvy," The clown purrs as he moves a hand to rub over Taurus' bulge, "Enjoy this, we're about to make so many miracles together."

"Uh," Is what comes out of Tavros' mouth unflatteringly, but he's trying so hard to get his thoughts together – this is important. "You're, uh, moving too fast," He whispers this, like he's a kid being afraid of caught doing something absolutely incorrigible, "N-not that I don't want this!" And when he says that, it's like a dam is broken loose, because his stutter worsens even further as Gamzee just stares blankly at him, hand still gently rubbing his bulge, "I w-want you Gamzee, um, I've, um, well, um, never done this and please don't leave me, don't leave me, I need you, Gamz," And the ranting continues until Gamzee finally _does_ clip him accidentally with his horns, having sharply brought up his chin.

"Tavvy," He begins, then sits there for a few seconds, his eyes focusing and unfocusing like a broken camera, "We can go as fucking slow as you want, we have all the fucking time in the fucking world, you know?" And a slow grin begins to break out on the stoner's face, so unlike all of his usual, empty, void smiles, "Seriously, Tav, I don't care. We can even stop if that's what you really need – I'm here to make you fucking feel like you're worth something. I'm here to stop your loneliness, because that's not how life should be lived," And the sweetness of it, the sheer _sweetness_ of it all just breaks down any walls that Tavros has left, because if that doesn't scream flushed feelings then nothing in this whole wide world does.

"But I don't want to stop," He says a bit breathlessly, his stutter leaving him for the time being – miraculously because his palms are shaking so much they're almost sending earthquakes throughout his body, from the excitement and adrenaline and nerves, mostly nerves – "I don't want to stop, because, um, well, I've already said why…" Nervousness should be shaking him to the core, but it's not as bad as before, somehow slowly evaporating along with any doubts Tavros might've had before those words. "I, just, I need it a little slower…" _So that I can remember this until the day I die, let me commit this to memory so that I remember this until the day I die, Gamz…_ And, deciding that he's already going to take the plunge off the deep-end, slips his hand under Gamzee's shirt.

What Tavros was expecting was a sort of chubby, squishy, belly, due to the sheer amount of confectionary goods – if they could be called that – that Gamzee'd gorged himself on every day. However, he finds nothing but flat, endless, grey planes, so, so different than his, because while Tavros is skinny himself, he's a little more on the muscular side: Gamzee is skinnier than a rail and his ribs and hips are bumps that make for hills on his otherwise completely flat figure.

When Gamzee leans in for a kiss, Tavros takes it slow, controlling the pace – although the whole while, he couldn't help but think that this must be so boring for the other troll…who wants to go at a slow pace? That in itself goes against everything in a troll's nature; sex is something fast-paced and rough, even when in redrom…and that thought by itself just isn't what Tavros _wants_. He needs someone gentle, someone who is willing to sit there and take the time to learn his body, what he likes, because he's more than willing to do the same. Gamzee had said, though, that he's willing to go at whatever pace, but the slow pace is going to kill him by the time that Tavros is ready…

The threat of Jack finding them all and slaughtering them really doesn't help; it creates a tangled up mess of worried knots deep in the bull's gut – because he knows it could happen at any moment, that there really _isn't_ time to go slow, like Gamzee seems to think there is. In one way or another, Tavros knows that he is doomed to die, and the end is coming far sooner than he ever could've thought or wanted, and that scares him, scares him to the point where, as much as he'd like to take his time to learn Gamzee's body, to memorize the spots that make Gamzee moan and the spots that make Gamzee _need_ him, there is no time, and he almost thinks it might be better to just rush into this. Today, he was given new legs to walk upon, a reminder that there is a new, horrible chapter in his story about to begin, but at least if he can do this – if he can let Gamzee in, if Gamzee in turn can find it in him to love him – then at least he will be able to face his death with the warmth of a loved one's hand in his.

_What am I so afraid of? _He reiterates, as his hand slips out from under Gamzee's shirt - _I need to stop being afraid, and just let him in, because I _will _remember this tomorrow, I'll remember this forever, even if tomorrow doesn't end up happening_ - and taking a deep breath, Tavros begins to cup the other troll's bulge. _I want to do this for Gamzee._ Uncontrollably-shaking fingers run over Gamzee's hard bulge, to be rewarded with a very sharp intake of breath and slight, breathy moan that Tavros would be lying if he said it didn't make his own bulge ache. _I want to do this for myself._

"Fuck Tav, I thought you said slow, this isn't fucking slow," The Capricorn muses with a chuckle, but his own hand covers the top of Tavros', and moves the other troll's hand slowly up and down, just the way he likes it, "You don't know what you do to me, do you?" And like a switch, that velveteen voice is back, and those spaced out eyes are once again focused on the bull, "I want you to know what you do to me…"

His mouth is slowly becoming drier than a desert, and his hands are sweating and uncomfortably hot under Gamzee's guiding touch, and he's so worried that his nails will accidentally cause a wound in a sensitive area, but he manages to husk out, "W-what do I do to you? What do I make you feel?" When Gamzee spreads his legs farther in response to the question – or maybe just perhaps as a reflex – Tavros' mouth is quite literally a cotton ball, and his eyes are so transfixed on those skinny hips that are lifting upwards just a little bit in time with Tavros' strokes.

There's no talk of miracles, like what the Taurus expected – instead, there's just a low moan, just a hiss of breath, and Gamzee locks eyes with Tavros, their hands entwined, "You make me feel _alive_," Which is far from anything that the troll was expecting. He was expecting, perhaps, expletives and nonsense, or something sexy, or something that was just so utterly _Gamzee-ish_ that he would've had to snort with laughter, but no, the words melt Tavros' heart, as if it wasn't already gooey and mushy enough by this point, "You turn me on, babe, " His voice grows softer, "You made me fucking stare blatantly at you, ever since the day we met, and everyone else noticed and figured it was the slime – but it was you, Tav…" And there's not much else for the troll to say, because Tavros is kissing him passionately and rubbing faster at those pants, feeling alternately so frustrated that pants are in the way and so, so unbelievably happy.

"I feel the same way, Gamzee," And he keeps the stutter out of his voice when he murmurs this against the Capricorn's lips, because hell, he needs to say something back, and Tavros hooks his brand new legs around Gamzee's back, "And, I," He hesitates, but then decides to say it anyways, "Want to keep touching you…" And his hand goes below that waistband and _oh god let me do this right_ tenderly wraps his hand around Gamzee's straining bone bulge. It's not what he expects to feel – it's a little longer than his own, but a little thinner - but Tavros, still keeping his eyes locked with Gamzee's heavy-lidded gaze, begins to slowly pump it, feeling the muscles in the other troll's thighs clench with the effort to not thrust and let Tavros go at his own pace.

"Tavvy," He begins, his voice a little strained, "You're so fucking sexy," And when Tavros lets out a small whine as one of Gamzee's hands grabs onto his horns, "See? Noises like that…so hot, babe," And the other foregoes the boxers and just firmly strokes Tavros' hard arousal, earning a choked gasp of approval and a sharp, sudden arching of his back. Unable to keep stroking Gamzee, and concentrate on anything but the feeling of a hand around him, stroking him at a luxuriously slow pace, Tavros' hands find their way onto Gamzee's horns, gripping hard as he bucked into the touch. "So sensitive, Tav…"

"Ahhh! Yes," He almost cries out, "I-I've, um, never d-done this before," He reiterates, because his brain is just _blown_ at this point, "So, I'm really – ahhh – sensitive," And Tavros simply can't keep the moans and gasps and hitches out of his words: it feels so good, too good, and he can already feel himself approaching – approaching, he doesn't even _know_ but there's heat building dangerously fast in his stomach, his skin is beginning to tingle and goose bump, and his legs are slowly tightening around the Capricorn's back – but he grunts and tries so desperately to hold on. "Gamzee," He whines, gripping the other's spindly horns harder as a warning, and Gamzee obligingly pulls back, but not without one last stroke, "T-thank you," He gasps, for the umpteenth time, though this time, he's glad that the clown didn't keep going – he would've ended embarrassingly early. "I don't, um, exactly, um…" When Gamzee cocks his head and smirks, he nearly loses it, "Know, uh, where to go from here…"

"What do you want?" Gamzee purrs, "What do you _need_?" Instead of answering, Tavros just bucks his hips, eyes tightly closed against his skin. "I'm sorry babe, I didn't exactly catch that…"

The bull hisses, "_You_," And yanks a little harshly on the other troll's horns, relishing the feeling Gamzee's arousal twitch against his when he does that, oh so deliciously. "I need you, Gamzee, so, um, please…just…" Not even really sure what he's asking for, but knowing that he doesn't want to orgasm from _just_ Gamzee's hand: he wants this to mean something more than just a slow, nonetheless-desperate, hand job given in an unseemly place and at an unseemly time.

"Just what?" And this time, Tavros actually _snarls_ at the clown hovering above him – something that the bull had never, ever done before – having finally lost his patience, signaling the end of teasing. He himself even looks taken back by it, and Gamzee can taste the apology forthcoming that dies on those black lips as he kisses him so hard, so roughly, that the other troll whimpers delectably into it. That shirt and those boxers are being quite literally shredded now, as Gamzee hastens to remove them. That growl, that feral, animalistic snarl, plays in the stoner's mind, a beautiful noise that makes his bone bulge twitch and throb, that makes him want to answer with his own snarl and in his head, Tavros is clawing at him and snarling and his eyes are wide and full of wild abandon. Tavros is real life is clutching his forearms painfully, nails slowly being coated with indigo blood, panting openly and his whole body has become flushed with chocolate blushes. "See?" Gamzee snarls, as he sheds his own clothing, both of them fully naked – and Tavros can't help but shyly look at his partner's bulge, "You fucking turn me on so much," And the bull opens his mouth to pant harder at the thought that at some point Gamzee is going to have that inside him, is going to claim him as his and his alone with that and Tavros' eyes look away at the floor now, perhaps out of self-consciousness. "Don't look away, Tav," And he gently grips that strong jaw, and forces Tavros to look – though to be honest, he didn't really put up a fight – "You deserve to motherfucking see this, you know? Cause this is for _you._"

"I-I know," He says, trying to be brave and not feel embarrassed that the sight of Gamzee alone is already making him come undone, "I just, um, can't compare, Gamzee. I'm not, um, as big as you, or as, um, sexy…" And the Capricorn laughs, it's husky and low and magnificent, so unlike his high, giddy laughs.

"But you're a sexy motherfucker to me, babe, even if you don't fucking think so yourself," And with that, the clown ends the conversation promptly, smashing his now-bare lips onto Tavros' own: all of his makeup on his lips had already worn off, having smeared and spattered all over Tavros, like a temporary mark of ownership that screamed **mine**. They'd already kissed so much, but the taste of Tavros – sweet and saccharine – mixing with the bitter, pasty taste of his makeup is something that Gamzee knows that he could never, ever get enough of. There simply isn't enough time to fully sate that part of him, but he can try, right?

He stops the kiss abruptly however, watching as Tavros' eyes flutter open, grinning crookedly down at him, "Tav, you want me, right?"

"More than a-anything else, Gamzee," Is the soft, loving reply.

"And you need me?"

"Y-yes…"

"Then," The Capricorn whispers, as he abruptly stands up, and, swooning and wobbling on his feet, waddles off to somewhere, then comes back with a half-eaten slime pie in his grasp, "This is for you, babe. My last motherfucking miracle on this fucking chunk of rock," He murmurs, looking down at the contents of the pie tin a little bit mournfully, knowing full well however that if he doesn't use the slime to prepare Tavros, he's going to be forever regretting it - because Tavros means more to him than any slime-based confectionary he'd ever had in the entire world. "But," He murmurs, as he takes one last lick, then coats his fingers with it, "I want to replace those miracles with you."

"Gamzee," The bull starts, but Gamzee is shifting his hips up onto his bare thighs, and holding him with one arm right around the waist, so that he has to watch and make sure Gamzee's horns don't catch between the plates of his metal legs. His shoulders will burn from this position later, having now been forced to take all of his weight, and his body is probably going to shut down at some point from having all of the blood alternately flow to his bulge and to his cheeks from being so openly exposed to Gamzee and wanting it so badly – but he simply doesn't care, and nervous though he is, lets the clown so very carefully sink one slime-coated finger into him.

The sensation is so foreign and makes Tavros worry at his bottom lip, almost thinking about calling it quits. It's not that it's painful, it's just so…_weird_ feeling, with just a little bit of discomfort…but the look on his partner's face right now – concentrated and open, focused and turned on – makes Tavros just grit his teeth and deal with it, especially when, after a while, Gamzee adds a second finger and it _burns_.

He doesn't say anything, simply furrows his brow in pain, as Gamzee tries so hard to gently prepare him. Tavros is well aware that this will hurt, but it's going to be worth it, he knows, because even if he never finds release, he'll have made his matesprit happy.

…Matesprit. Is that what they are now? But then again, it doesn't really matter – that's something that Tavros files away in his head for later, but can't help the silly smile spreading across his face. Yes, Gamzee has certainly indicated that he feels flushed for Tavros too...so, after this, they would be matesprits. The silly grin only grows wider and toothier, and the pain is being pushed away, locked in a box in the back of Tavros' mind. If this is what will make his matesprit happy, then he is more than happy to do this.

Gamzee is adding a third finger now, without the bull really registering it. Snapping back to reality, he vaguely wonders why Gamzee is tightening his grip on his sto-

"Oh _fuck_, G-Gamzee!" He's bucking and writhing wildly, with Gamzee's fingers rubbing insistently somewhere inside of him, making him feel absolutely fucking _wonderful_. He hears Gamzee's wondrous, triumphant chuckle, but it doesn't register, nothing registers, and then, with his eyes screw tightly shut and his whole body shuddering, he is _so close_, he's going to fall of that fucking edge and dear god _yes_ -

Gamzee's fingers are gone from him, and he goes absolutely limp, his eyes still screwed shut. He feels oddly empty now, and he almost asks Gamzee to continue what he was doing, but instead decides that he doesn't want to come that way, would rather have all of Gamzee inside him when he does. Still breathing heavily, the Capricorn's arm slacks, then finally releases him, and Tavros very nearly melts into a puddle of goo on the floor.

"Lean b-back," He pants out, feeling Gamzee's bulge throbbing against his ass, as he complies. Tavros looks everywhere, then spots the pie tin, and sitting on Gamzee's chest, dips his hand into the sticky slime. It's thick and smells like the tooth-rottingly sugary, but he scoops up a lot in his palm and, reaching behind him, coats his matesprit's bulge with it. Gamzee hisses, then, scooping some out himself, runs the tips of his fingers down Tavros' greyish-brown chest, making his chest glow a little neon in the green lighting of the tubes. "Ready for the, um, miracles to happen?" But he doesn't give Gamzee a chance to answer, because he is sinking down himself on the Capricorn's hard bulge.

The pain is nearly unbearable is the first thing that registers in his mind.

The slime is dripping down his chest, and Gamzee is doing his best to lean inward and lick it off is the second thing that registers in his mind.

Gamzee is moaning like this is the best thing to happen to him in his life is the last thing to register, as he simply sits there, eyes directed skyward so that his matesprit doesn't have to see the tears streaming down his face. _Fuck, Gamzee, I thought you were big when I saw you, you feel even bigger than you looked_

His breath is coming in short, shallow breaths, as he struggles to retain some semblance of control over the tears in his eyes. Surely, if the other troll saw the tears, he would give up on Tavros, and stand up and walk away, and the bull simply _won't _allow that to happen. He gulps down some deep breaths of air, and then finally, finally looks down at Gamzee.

His eyes aren't shut, but they're heavy lidded and glassy; his cheeks are dusted with special stardust and smeared makeup and a dark, beautiful, indigo flush; his lips are parted slightly and Tavros can, when he puts a slimy hand on his chest, feel his lungs heaving.

Tavros' other hand comes to rest lightly wrapped around Gamzee's horn, and he once again thanks Equius and Kanaya for his new legs as he slowly begins to rock up and down. The pain isn't gone yet, and he feels slime running down his thighs and it feels disgusting – but he lost his virginity to the one he's undeniably flushed with, and that's _all that matters_. The pain is nothing in comparison to what he's gaining here.

Gamzee is slowly rocking in time to meet Tavros' weak thrusts, but neither feels the inherent need to speed it up. Coherent thoughts are gone from both minds; communication happens in the form of eye contact and kisses and touches and whimpers and moans, and words are no longer needed. Tears continue to stream down the bull's face, but not so much from the pain, but from being wanted, being loved, for the first time in his life; stifled sobs wrack his shoulders from finally being able to use his lower body and not be a complete failure, because the pleasure on Gamzee's face is proof enough that he actually finally succeeded at something. Gamzee's thin fingers are running up and down his toned arms, his lips are moving to utter sweet nothings, and Tavros just simply smiles down at him, like Gamzee just gift-wrapped the whole fucking world in a box and gave it to him.

The pace is slow, and the touches are gentle, against every troll's nature, but neither minds, really. Once the tears stop freely flowing, and there are just simple shivers and shudders and sniffles coming from the Taurus, the Capricorn adjusts the pace to be just a little faster. His thrusts, however, are still long and deep, finally making Tavros tremble from pleasure, instead of pain. Needy noises tumble from his lips as Gamzee's hands don't stop moving, roaming, everywhere and anywhere.

Tavros chants Gamzee's name like it's the only word he knows, and for the time being, it is. The Capricorn is his, only his, just his, and he should show it, right? He blushes deeper, and watches Gamzee's eyebrows furrow in confusion before he grabs those beautifully thin hands that had come to rest on his hips and, in transferring them to his chest, he grabs both of Gamzee's horns and, with a deep breath…

He begins to ride him, _hard_, more than enjoying the startled gasp and resulting moans that pour from those black lips. Gamzee's hands try to find those narrow hips again, but Tavros smacks them away.

"T-Tavvy, you don't fucking have to –"

"I_ want_ to make you feel good, Gamzee, so just…just…" He squeezes his eyes shut with the pain of it, but there's a smile on his face, "Just, let me do this, okay?" And he leans back, and urgently tries to find a good rhythm. It's erratic and clumsy and Tavros pants with the effort, unused to being able to actually his legs for once, unused to this whole situation and his body is crying for release and to let Gamzee take over, but he stubbornly holds on. He desperately needs Gamzee to be the one to come first, needs to let his matesprit truly _mark_ him completely for the first time, before he can even begin to think about letting himself orgasm.

"Let me fucking touch you," Gamzee murmurs into Tavros' palm, as he grabs it, kisses and nips it gently, his eyes now nothing but slits, "Let me touch you," He repeats without the swearing, the unoccupied hand playing with the overtly sensitive junction between machine and skin on his partner's left thigh. A whiny no and an exaggerated shake of the head is the answer he gets, but when the Capricorn's hand wraps around the other troll's arousal anyways, a few strokes and Tavros is yelling, shouting Gamzee's name at the very top of his lungs, scratching at Gamzee's chest, crying as his world goes white and he shudders, first shortly, then violently, at his first every orgasm.

Then he's melting, melting and slumping onto Gamzee, and the other troll just simply wraps his arms around his lover, ignoring his own aching bulge for the moment, still within the bull. "Tav," He whispers into his matesprit's ear, "Did you like that?"

A low moan is the only response he gets from the now boneless Taurus, and he chuckles.

"I, um, I need to finish you too," The bull manages to stutter out, and snarls when Gamzee shakes his head, "I really should," And makes a little noise, a little whine in the back of his throat when he clenches around Gamzee and simply hisses, "_Ride me_, Gamzee."

The Capricorn whimpers wordlessly in return, his mind once again conjuring up that image of an animalistic Tavros and grabs those hips and slams into the willing, shaking body above him. He struggles to keep his eyes open, to watch Tavros' body take him in, letting himself become owned by Gamzee, but the pleasure grows to be too much and his chest is arching as his lover clenches around him and he icomes/i, arching even further into the troll above him until he collapses limply, feeling lazy and sated.

His arms wrap around the bull once more, and he feels the metal legs give out and all of Tavros' weight is on his own, but he doesn't mind.

"G-Gamzee," His matesprit begins to say, the stutter once again coloring his voice, "Was I good enough? I, I'm really sorry, I came before you and…" Those hands wring themselves nervously, a habit that Gamzee knows in the future he'll have to break – a thought that makes a Chesire grin bust out on his face.

"Tav, you were _perfect_," Gamzee says, his fingers sticking themselves inside Tavros' mouth to make him grin just as wide, "I told you, you're a motherfuckin' miracle, didn't I?" And the Capricorn kisses the long bull horns before him, and then the forehead, and then the lips, of his newfound matesprit.

"Gamzee?" Tavros questions, and Gamzee makes a questioning noise, "Thank you," He blushes, and kisses the clown's nose, _I don't feel lonely anymore._


	2. Epilogue

You feel like, at the end of the day, you got your wish – it feels like you're flying as you grope your abdomen and whimper. The ceiling above you is blurry and dark and makes you scared, because you don't know where anybody is, and there's no way you could sit up.

It feels like you ingested some of Gamzee's slime, and that thought makes you whine louder.

Gamzee won't be here to save you. He'll never, ever save you again.

And you cry.

It's weird, because you think back to the time when you cried when Gamzee had you for the first and only time – you cried out of loneliness, you cried out of happiness, you cried because he loved you and you loved him, or at least, the drugs made him love you. In your head, you reason that it's alright, no one could fully love you anyways, and at least you got to experience love, even if it was fake and drug-induced.

You cry harder.

You cry not because of the situation you're in, but because of the situation everyone else is in. Vriska is being Vriska, Eridan is being a murderous hipster, and Gamzee…

You don't want to think about him at the moment, and yet the parts of you that love him – which is all of you - does, so you fight with yourself inwardly and decide that it's okay to remember that once upon a time, in what feels like centuries ago, there was a man named Gamzee Makara and one day he found you in the ectobiology lab and made love to you, and he doesn't anymore, because he went insane and left you behind.

Your fingers are slick and sticky, but you prod the lance in your body, wishing that you could just die already. You've already tried to rip the lance out, but you're weak and your head is spinning so you stare up at the ceiling and bite your lips until they bleed.

There's a honking in the background, and screaming, and then silence, and you still stare up at the ceiling. You don't have the energy to move – if Gamzee finds you, maybe he'll be kind enough to just kill you already, and put you out of your misery. Footsteps echo in the room, and you cry harder, because you know who they belong to, and it's not someone you want.

"Tavvy," He croons, sounding just a little bit like the old Gamzee – but there's no affection in that icy voice, and he laughs at you when you flinch at being called that…it brings back too many memories. "What a beautiful MOTHERFUCKING SIGHT we have here," He plops himself down next to you, his face bleeding indigo blood…it's almost enough to make you want to wipe it away, kiss it, and make it better.

You realize with sadness that even if Gamzee was still sane, you wouldn't have that power to do that anyways – you didn't have the power to stop him from killing people, did you?

You gargle in response, unable to say anything due to the blood welling up in your throat. You wonder why you're not dead yet. You wonder if this is just a layer of hell, and this is your punishment for never being strong enough to do anything in life…

Gamzee towers over you, and your vision is going blurry, and then it's gone in one eye, because Gamzee's blood is plopping disgustingly from the cuts on his face to your forehead, dripping slowly into your eye.

"I killed the motherfuckers," He begins, leaning down so that his face is mere inches from yours, and you want to _scream_, "I FUCKING KILLED THE MOTHERFUCKERS, how about a FUCKING THANK YOU?" When you shake your head, hitting him square on the jaw with one of your horns, and squeeze your eyes shut and begin to sob again, he slaps you, his claws making deep wounds in your cheek, "I fucking killed all of those motherfuckers for you, Tav, I motherfucking killed them all so that I could fucking protect you," And this time, Gamzee cups his cheek, his thumb rubbing into the cuts that you can't really feel, smearing your own blood onto your lips, when they were already blood-coated to begin with, "They were gonna take you away from me, and I couldn't live without you, please believe me Tav," And his voice breaks and becomes soft and sweet and your one open eye widens until you think that your eye's gonna pop out. You almost wish it would.

You wish that you could tell him everything that you're thinking. You wish that you could tell him that you want to kill him. You wish you could lift your arms, and wrap your hands around his neck and _squeeze_.

You wish you could tell him you love him.

You can't.

Your one seeing eye returns to the ceiling. You want to die. You fumble around with the energy you have left, and, upon finding the other's limp hand, you curl your own in his, just for a few seconds. You imagine that it's _your_ Gamzee's hand you're holding, instead of this one's. You imagine he's saying he loves you, instead of telling you how he murdered your friends in cold blood for no good reason.

You imagine you're not breaking on the inside when he yanks it out of your grasp, then digs his hand into the carnage of your stomach.

You imagine that you're not feeling pain as the man you loved rips out your entrails and, with your blood, paints on you, paints on the floor, and calls it a motherfucking miracle.

You imagine that, with your last breath, that you're flying, and your Gamzee is standing next to you, spacey and wobbling and smiling, looking as beautiful as he did the day you met him, and you can't help but curl your hand over the hole in your stomach that extends so, so much further than just physically.

With the memories of your Gamzee in your head, you can't help but die with a smile on your face, knowing that you died with the warmth of a loved one's hand still clinging desperately to yours; you died not feeling, for the second time in your life, lonely anymore.


End file.
